


You must be like me; you must suffer in rhythm.

by MiserableLie95



Category: Morrissey (Musician), The Smiths
Genre: Anal Sex, Established Relationship, Implied/Referenced Cheating, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Sorry Angie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-03
Updated: 2017-02-03
Packaged: 2018-09-21 16:52:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9558134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiserableLie95/pseuds/MiserableLie95
Summary: Smiths Era. TW: Mental illness & mentioned recreational drug use.





	

\- Johnny was still groaning, his muscles taut in the aftershocks of climax, as his wife got out of the bed and diligently picked up the clothes she had set out to wear that day for the journey back to Manchester. 

“Y’know, the fact that you can walk without your legs giving out from under you right now makes me think we should go another round,” Johnny said once he had caught his breath. His cheeks were flushed in pleasure, his eyes bright enough to make the overcast weather outside unnoticeable. 

“You know, I’ve got a train to catch in an hour”, Angie replied, going through the bureau. 

“Forty-five minutes,” Johnny amended, looking at the clock. “That’s plenty of time, babe.” 

Angie sighed and leaned in to kiss his forehead on the way to the bathroom and told him to get up without looking back at him. She was returning to Manchester for an appointment and spending time with family while Johnny remained in London for a video shoot. Johnny watched her naked figure slip into the bathroom and shut the door behind her. He pulled the sheet up over his thin body, reaching to light a cigarette as he heard the shower being turned on. 

He got coffee and toast ready in the kitchen as the sun started to break through the clouds, enjoying a rare moment of silence in his house while Angie did her makeup. He was mentally running over the tasks of the day, eyeing the clock warily already. The clouds showed signs of letting the sun through as he and Angie got into the car on the way to the station. She lit a cigarette and asked him if he remembered the phone ringing in the middle of the night last night, if it had woken him up. 

“Yeah, I heard it,” Johnny answered. His mouth went dry, and he looked straight ahead as he tried to keep his tone nonchalant. “It was probably some deranged fan who got ahold of the new number,” he said. He refused to let his mind wander to what else that call could have meant, because it made his chest tighten with anxiety. At least she was leaving for a little while, so he could sort things out. Tensions had been rising within the band, inexplicable as always, everything revolving around the principal members of the group. It was always once thing after another. He didn’t need Angie asking questions too. 

Angie agreed and mercifully dropped the topic. She was always good at that. Johnny tried to get the sensation of panic to lessen, and Angie turned up the radio and held his hand the rest of the ride over. Her lips pressed against his throat when he hugged her goodbye until Monday morning. 

He rubbed the mark of her lipstick off his own lips absentmindedly on his way to the venue, keeping the radio up high to distract himself from his thoughts. Andy and Mike were already there with the group’s new manager Ken when he arrived. 

“Johnny, I thought you’d have Morrissey with you,” Ken said. He furrowed his eyebrows as Johnny walked in. 

Johnny blanched, his mouth going dry again. “Why would you think that?” Johnny asked quickly. Ken opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by a roadie, and Johnny turned his back on the manager, his hands balled into fists without him meaning it. He joined Andy and Mike where they were stood smoking by a side door, both of them with matching puffy eyes and ashen faces. 

“You went out last night, then?” Johnny asked, lighting a cigarette. 

Mike nodded, spitting on the cement at their feet. “It was wild. You should’ve come along,” he said. 

Johnny shrugged his shoulders, his eyes scanning the landscape for an approaching taxi cab holding their singer. “I had to spend some time with Ang before she left for her parents’ place,” he explained flatly. 

“So you’ll come out tonight?” Andy asked. 

“Definitely,” Johnny agreed absentmindedly. He smoked the rest of his cigarette in contemplative silence while the percussion section discussed whether or not the roadie that they had sent on a booze run for the video shoot would turn up before Morrissey did. 

“You’d better hope the liquor arrives before Mozzer,” Johnny broke in, flicking away his cigarette. Andy made a sound of disagreement, and Johnny raised his eyebrows at him only to have the bass player give him a shifty look, his eyes moving over to Mike warningly. Johnny blinked at Andy’s expression and turned back to the interior of the venue, spotting Ken walking over to him, his expression terse. 

“He’s not picking up the phone, Johnny,” the manager called out gruffly. 

Johnny pursed his lips and looked down at his watch tentatively. He had shown up a half hour late himself, hoping to arrive after the singer. No such luck. Johnny knew there was no chance that the frontman could have overslept. He was an early riser. So it must have been something else keeping him away.

“I can go round and try to find out what’s holding him up,” Johnny said with much resignation. They hadn’t been getting on as well as they used to, stupid arguments and little things kept getting in the way more than ever. Maybe some alone time, with a clear focus on what the group was doing next, could help both of them. 

“I’ll join you,” Ken agreed. 

Johnny looked away, clearing his throat. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Johnny said, trying keep his voice emotionless enough to avoid having to explain why. 

“Johnny, he’s got to get on board with managerial staff. We’re not asking anything outrageous.” 

Johnny laughed and chose to say nothing else. He dug his keys out of his jacket pocket and told one of the camera crew to pass on to Andy and Mike that they were going to get Moz. No one feigned surprise. Johnny gripped the steering wheel tightly on the drive to Morrissey’s flat, wishing he had thought of a reason to keep Ken from coming with him. The chances to get Morrissey to come out because Ken was asking were slim, but he knocked on Morrissey’s front door smartly nonetheless, trying to spot any signs of movement behind the closed curtains. 

“He could be on his way there,” Johnny suggested, not believing it for a second.

Ken continued knocking, calling for the singer through the letterbox. Johnny lit a cigarette, watching the street idly while Ken continued trying knocking in vain- unaware that once the singer had decided upon something, there was zero chance of changing his mind. It used to be one of the things that Johnny admired about his partner, but he was causing more and more difficulties along the line with his unrelenting stubbornness and need for control. 

“There’s a telephone around the corner. You can try calling for him again," Johnny tried. 

Ken, a open and ambitious American, accepted the offer in good spirits and went off for the telephone. Johnny, in the meantime, went back to his car and opened the glovebox, where he kept a small notebook and a pen in order to write notes along with the cassettes he dropped off for Morrissey when he had finished writing a song.

Holding his cigarette between his lips, Johnny wrote: “Will be back without Ken in 20. Forget the shoot. Need to make sure you’re okay. X. Johnny”.  
He dropped it through the letterbox, as he always did with the cassettes, and was sitting on Morrissey’s front stoop when Ken returned, shaking his head. Johnny got up and ambled down the front steps, shrugging his shoulders. On the drive back to the venue Johnny could tell Ken was fuming, but there was nothing either of them could do or say. 

“Do you know how much it cost to rent that place out and hire a film crew?” Ken finally said. 

Johnny shook his head. He didn’t have it in him to get outrageously upset about Morrissey’s decisions anymore. Back at the venue, it was Ken’s task to inform the people that had shown up at 9am for a video shoot that there would be no work done today. Johnny told his bandmates, who were sipping from a bottle of rum at the side door, and neither of them hid their relief that they were free for the day. As they started to leave for the parking lots, Andy gave Johnny what he must have thought was a subtle look, and both of them hung back while people started clearing out. 

“Er, Johnny. I’ve got to tell you something,” Andy said. He looked away from his childhood friend, scratching his neck guiltily. “I saw Morrissey yesterday afternoon. He, uh, showed up at my place.” 

“What did he want?” Johnny asked quickly. His chest felt tight again, like he couldn’t get enough air into his lungs. He tried to think about what Morrissey could have possibly said to Andy; about him, about their relationship, about the rest of the group’s drug use, it could have been anything. 

“Well, I guess he’d overheard… Some roadie, or someone, I don’t know… About that doctor I know who gives out prescriptions,” Andy explained. “He said he’d forgotten to renew his prescription with his doctor in Manchester, and, he- well, he was in a proper state. I thought it was the right thing to do. He looked like he’d been on a bender or something… I don’t know. I was a bit scared of him, to be honest,” Andy said. “And now he’s not showing up for the shoot…I’d feel horrible if something had happened to him. I didn’t think it would mess anything up.” 

Johnny attempted to nod casually as he processed the information, trying and failing to keep his heartbeat and his thoughts from racing. “I’m sure he’s fine, Andy,” Johnny said after a moment. He wished he could believe it. “Mozzer, he needs a pick-me-up sometimes, just like the rest of us. I think he’s just trying to fuck with Ken, to be honest mate... I’ll check on him later on and let you know.” 

Andy nodded and lit a cigarette, his conscience was sufficiently cleared. “How about a ride then? I’m sure Mike’s left me here,” Andy laughed. 

Johnny nodded, his thoughts racing ahead of him while Andy fiddled with his cassettes. “What’d you say you gave Moz?” Johnny asked as he pulled onto Andy’s street. 

“I think the good doctor said they were sleeping pills. I made sure to tell Moz he only needed one to get through the night,” Andy answered. He was glad when Johnny pulled up in front of his house, able to escape any further questioning. 

After he dropped off Andy Johnny headed right back to Morrissey’s place, speeding on the roads over. He parked around the corner and jogged up to the singer’s door, knocking quickly on the windowpane to no response from within. He knocked again, calling the singer’s name, trying to keep panic from breaking into his tone. Johnny scuffed his shoes against the stoop, biting his lip with his anxiety rising. What if something had happened? Who knew what kind of pills that sketchy doctor had given Andy? Johnny knocked a couple more times and thought of the key to Morrissey’s apartment that was hidden in one of his guitar cases back home. He didn’t think he could bear the drive over. 

He sat down on the front stoop, vaguely defeated, thinking how badly he needed a drink, and it was only ten in the morning. He lit a cigarette instead and ran his fingers through his hair, thinking of going over to the payphone and trying to call Morrissey’s house again, then his mother’s house next. He wouldn’t be surprised if Morrissey had left the city entirely without telling anyone. Johnny inhaled deeply and closed his eyes for a moment, his head pounding with racing thoughts. He just barely noticed the sound of the door opening behind him and jumped up, turning to see the singer standing in the doorway. 

“Oh, thank god,” Johnny mumbled, throwing his cigarette onto the sidewalk. 

“Why in the world are you sitting on my front stoop? What will the neighbors think?” Morrissey asked, crossing his arms. 

Johnny smiled and crossed the threshold quickly, forcing his way into the singer’s house before either of them could say anything else. “They’ll probably wonder why it took you so long to let me in,” Johnny said tersely, leading his partner into the living room.

In the light from the bay window, Johnny could see Morrissey wasn’t well. He was dressed, his hair fixed, appearing to be ready for the tasks of the day- but there was something wrong in his eyes, in the tight draw of his mouth. He looked tired, worn down, and in some degree of pain. He sat on the edge of the couch, hunched over slightly, and Johnny joined him, sitting close by his side. 

“Morrissey,” Johnny started, trying not to sound accusatory. Before he could get anywhere, he was interrupted. 

“I can’t do it, John,” Morrissey cut in, shaking his head. He rubbed his hands over his face, and his shoulders trembled. Johnny’s throat tightened, he couldn’t get his words out. “Sincerely, I really can’t do it today,” he said, his voice wavering. 

Johnny gripped his shoulder firmly, hoping he could at least appear to be a rock in a situation where he felt equally afloat. “Hey- I don’t care about the fucking video,” Johnny answered. “But I do need you to talk to me and tell me what’s going on,” Johnny said. 

Morrissey blinked quickly, clearing his eyes of the tears that had filled them. He had to look away from the guitarist after he noticed the unmistakable imprint of lipstick on the younger man’s throat. 

Johnny furrowed his eyebrows, unwisely wishing he knew what the other man was thinking when he turned away like that. “That was you calling last night, wasn’t it?” Johnny finally said, letting his hand drop from Morrissey’s shoulder. 

“I needed you,” Morrissey said faintly. His voice sounded strange, out of place in the quiet of his apartment. He turned to look at Johnny and his eyes were glassy. Johnny couldn’t miss it. He put his hands on Morrissey’s shoulders and pulled the singer against him, brushing his fingers through the short hair on the back of his head. Saying he was sorry wouldn’t change things, so he kept it to himself. 

“You’re tired, Moz,” Johnny said. “When’s the last time you had a good sleep?” Johnny asked. 

“I don’t know. There’s been so much to do… I can’t get any relief." 

“It’s okay,” Johnny answered softly. It was clearly something more than pure exhaustion, but he couldn't force Morrissey to tell him anything anymore. “There’s a lot going on, and it’s taking its toll, that’s all… How about I get something to soothe you and you get into bed and try to rest? I have to sort some things out with Andy, but I can come back- if you’d let me in, that is.” 

“I’d let you in,” Morrissey said softly. His forehead was pressed against Johnny’s shoulder. 

Johnny rubbed his hands along the Morrissey’s back encouragingly, trying to will some movement into the singer. “Go on to your room and undress. I’ll get you a drink and put you to bed,” Johnny told him, helping him up.

Morrissey sniffed and got up, walking down to his bedroom without another word, but it was unmistakable to Johnny that he’d been crying. 

Johnny poured brandy into a mug, drinking half of it himself, then filling it again to make the singer a hot toddy. He stopped in the bathroom on the way down to Morrissey’s room. It was spotless as usual, but his razor laid on the edge of the sink instead of in it’s usual spot. Johnny grimaced slightly as he placed it where it belonged in the cabinet, and tried not to let his thoughts wander about the state of his bandmate as he rinsed the taste of brandy out of his mouth. 

He walked into Morrissey’s room, shutting the door behind him. Morrissey was under the covers, his bare chest smooth and pale against his dark comforter. Johnny handed him the drink and sat on the edge of the bed, frowning slightly as he looked around the singer’s room. “When’s the last time you got out of here?” Johnny asked, turning his eyes to his partner warily. 

Morrissey blew on the drink before he took a sip, and ran his fingers through his hair slowly. “I don’t know,” Morrissey answered. His voice was slightly hoarse from crying. “A while, I suppose.”

“It’s not going to help anything to lock yourself away and refuse to talk to anyone,” Johnny told him.

Morrissey looked down at the duvet and the drink in his hand, moving his thumb along the mug. It was simply a matter of things he should not say.

“I hate to see you like this, Moz,” Johnny sighed. “I want to help. I want you to tell me what I can do. I’ll sort out everything with the group that needs to be dealt with, and I want you to let me take care of you. You can’t take on everything on your own. I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately. It’s so much harder on you that way.”

“Just stay with me a while,” Morrissey said finally.

Johnny pulled his shirt off over his head slowly, thinking about what Andy had said and what he could possibly do about that. “Some rest would do us both good, I think,” Johnny told him, getting up to take off his shoes and his jeans. 

Morrissey watched him while he undressed, still staring after the lipstick imprint Angie left on his neck earlier in the morning. There was no way for Morrissey to escape the reminders that it could never just be the two of them, and the thought of it made his blood boil some days.

As Johnny moved over Morrissey to get into his bed Morrissey watched the necklace the guitarist was wearing bounce off his chest, and could not resist reaching out to move his fingers along the younger man’s sternum. Johnny paused, straddling the singer and meeting his bloodshot eyes. 

“I can’t stay too long,” he said foolishly. Morrissey rolled his eyes as Johnny settled next to him in the bed, wrapping his arms around him delicately. “Shit, I didn’t mean it like that, I’ve just got a few things to do later,” Johnny amended, shaking his head.

“You always do,” Morrissey answered loftily.

“Are you upset about last night? You knew I couldn’t answer, Moz,” Johnny said. 

“Forget it”, Morrissey replied, taking another sip from the mug and then putting the drink on the bedside table. 

Johnny’s throat tightened, and he pulled the singer close to him. “I can’t”, he answered softly. He kissed Morrissey on the cheek and Morrissey settled his face in Johnny’s neck, sighing. Johnny rolled out his shoulders and traced shapes along Morrissey’s back as they laid together quietly.

After some time, Morrissey grew tired of the sun reflecting off the chain around Johnny’s neck and he unclasped the necklace Johnny was wearing, laying it on the bedside table. He felt the glint of the cool metal in his hand, and Johnny’s gaze following him. 

“Finish that drink,” Johnny said, and Morrissey did as he was instructed, setting down the empty glass next to Johnny’s necklace. Their eyes met again, and Johnny put his hand on the back of Morrissey head, pulling him in so they could kiss. 

“Oh, no, I probably reek of brandy,” Morrissey apologized, leaning back slightly before their lips touched. 

“Do you think it really matters to me?” Johnny asked, arching his eyebrows. 

Morrissey paused, but before he could think of a retort through the hazy confines of his mind, Johnny kissed him, wrapping him up in his arms again. They kissed slowly, gentle and warm. “I thought we were supposed to be sleeping,” Morrissey commented as Johnny kissed along his collarbone. 

Johnny laughed, looking up at the singer sheepishly. “Ah, it’s hard not to kiss you, Mozzer. Would you rather be asleep?” 

“No, I can’t sleep,” Morrissey answered, laughing in spite of himself. 

“Then don’t interrupt,” Johnny smiled. 

Morrissey’s rueful smile in response did not go unnoticed, and Johnny shifted up slightly, pulling their bodies together and holding Morrissey close to him. Morrissey kissed Johnny on the cheek and then moved to press his face against his neck, the mark of lipstick catching his eye again. His thoughts fuzzy from brandy and anxiety, he did not spare it another thought before he kissed Johnny’s neck, trailing his tongue over the spot where Angie had kissed the guitarist goodbye that morning. Johnny shivered and closed his eyes. Morrissey sucked at the mark hard enough to make Johnny moan and then kissed the other side of his neck hotly, moving his hands along Johnny’s torso. Johnny turned his head, offering the same side of his neck again, and this time Morrissey kissed him harder, focused on the same spot, and sunk his teeth in, feeling Johnny’s hands grip his waist with a low gasp. When he moved away he could already see a bruise starting the form. 

“Ah, play fair,” Johnny reminded him, drawing in a sharp breath. His slight agitation could not override the pure pleasure of Morrissey wanting to leave a mark on him like that. He moved his fingers over the love bite Morrissey left on his skin, his face flushed.

“Let me know when you do,” Morrissey replied. 

“Is that it, then?” Johnny asked, looking over at Morrissey. 

“What are you trying to ask me?” Morrissey replied flatly. 

Johnny put his hand on the side of Morrissey’s head, turning his face towards him so they could look at each other. “You don’t think I’m fair to you,” Johnny repeated darkly. “Believe me, love, I really don’t know what else I can do for you at this point.” 

Before Morrissey could reply Johnny sighed and put his hand on Morrissey’s chest. “I’m giving myself to you in every way that I possibly can," he started. “I know it’s not easy for you, Morrissey. If there was anything I could plausibly do for you, you know I would. I hardly ever say no to you, Moz. I’ve been saying ‘no, not today, I can’t do that’ to everyone else for the last four years. And I can keep doing it… I’d love to keep doing it if it means we can continue. But it won’t work if you’re not honest with me. You need to talk to me, and I don’t mean by way of a random call in the middle of the night when you know I’ve got something I have to do early the next morning.” 

“Yes, yes you’re right”," Morrissey sighed. “I understand what you’re saying.” 

“Then why aren’t you doing it?” Johnny asked. “Why the fuck would you go to Andy instead of coming to me?” 

“I suppose I thought he would understand. And not pass judgement,” Morrissey said softly, looking up at the ceiling. He had imagined Andy could be a bit more discreet than Mike, but then again it was the first time he had interacted with Andy on his own. He must have made a bad impression, and now he had Johnny frowning at him in his bed, making him feel impossibly small and naive.

“That doctor’s crooked as all fuck,” Johnny exclaimed, sitting up in bed and putting his head in his hands for a moment.

“I didn’t take any of the pills. I’ll live another day, by god,” Morrissey told him. 

“Don’t touch them. If you need something I can get you something,” Johnny said. He rubbed his hand over his face and looked back over at the singer. The question, ‘What is it about this that isn’t enough?’ rang through his head, but he couldn’t ask it, because he couldn’t bear to reflect on it himself. 

“All right. I understand,” Morrissey sighed. “Now if you don’t mind, I think I’d like to be left alone.”

“I can’t leave like this…” Johnny answered, his voice breaking in disbelief. 

“Of course you can. In a few days the label will forget about the video, just like they forget about our singles- and we can pretend this never happened,” Morrissey assured him. 

“Morrissey, stop it,” Johnny said. 

“I can’t depend on you for everything, Johnny,” Morrissey said in a tired voice. “You’ve said it yourself. I thought Andy could help me in a moment of need, but I suppose I was wrong. Well, it happens, doesn’t it?”

“When it’s something like this, I need to know,” Johnny told him. He swallowed back the lump in his throat and sank back against the pillows, putting his hand on Morrissey’s arm tentatively. “I can’t make it any clearer that it’s not because of the group, or the label, or anything else,” Johnny said. “I love you. And that means you can’t expect me to just leave when you’re obviously in pain.” 

Morrissey’s face remained blank. He still found it difficult to respond to such intimacy and dedication, but Johnny always understood the things he couldn’t say. He kissed the singer on the lips, bringing Morrissey into his arms and pulling the comforter around their bodies tightly. Morrissey’s shoulders were shaking again, so Johnny held him closely, trying to breathe evenly as Morrissey buried his face in his neck. Was he making things worse by being there? It was hard to tell. 

“I want you to be able to ask me for help when you need it,” Johnny said. 

“Learned habits are quite hard to break," Morrissey said weakly. 

Johnny nodded. It was terrifying to watch someone come emotionally and mentally undone, and it happened to Morrissey increasingly frequently as the years passed and the group gained more popularity. “Do you want to talk about it now?” Johnny asked gently. 

“There isn’t much to say. It’s been like this my entire life,” Morrissey answered gravely. “I thought it would change when things got better, but I gather at this point it never will.” 

“You can’t think like that,” Johnny said softly, trying to keep his voice steady. “I’ll take care of you, love,” he whispered. He kissed Morrissey on the cheek and the singer settled in his arms, inhaling and exhaling carefully, slowly calming himself down with Johnny’s body intertwined with his own. 

Johnny held Morrissey until the light had shifted past the window, darkening the quiet bedroom. He couldn’t tell whether or not Morrissey was sleeping when he slipped out of the room, but it didn’t stop him from going into the singer’s nightstand and taking out the bottle of pills he’d gotten from Andy. Johnny put the bottle in his coat pocket and stopped by the liquor cabinet, taking a pull from the brandy that Morrissey kept in there on his way out. He turned the radio on during the drive back to his own place, where he let the dogs out and made a couple of telephone calls until he got a hold of someone who’d get him some Valium. In another thirty minutes and a joint on the drive over, he was back in Morrissey’s room again, setting a pill case of Valium on the singer’s bureau and settling back into bed with a quietly relieved Morrissey. 

“Did you get any rest while I was gone?” Johnny asked.

“I had my eyes closed, does that count?” 

“I don’t think so,” Johnny laughed, slipping his arms around Morrissey’s waist. 

Morrissey leaned into him and sighed in contentment. “We can sleep later… Or when we’re dead. Does it really matter?” Morrissey asked. He kissed Johnny’s hair and Johnny pulled him closer. 

“How are you feeling? I picked up some Valium, but it’s still a bit early to be taking it. I know you’re tired, but it’ll really put you out…I don’t want you to turn into a zombie on me just yet,” Johnny explained, rubbing his hands over the singer’s shoulders. 

“Are you sure about that?” Morrissey rumbled. 

Johnny kissed his chest and nodded, meeting the singer’s sharp eyes. “And how are we feeling?” Johnny asked. He let his lips move along Morrissey’s collarbone, breathing him in, hoping to momentarily ignore the numerous issues at hand. 

“Oh…” Morrissey sighed, moving his hands along Johnny’s bare back. Johnny shifted, pressing up against Morrissey, kissing his neck. “Quite alright, at the moment,” Morrissey answered faintly, stretching his neck and smiling. Johnny kept kissing his neck and his ears, moving to meet the singer’s lips softly. 

“You’re sweet tonight,” Morrissey noted. 

“Do you want me to stop bothering you?” Johnny asked, laughing. 

“No,” Morrissey admitted. He kissed Johnny on the lips and held him tight, making Johnny moan into his mouth. They kissed for a while, hot and deep, until Johnny forced himself to break the kiss, his expression deadly serious as he met Morrissey’s eyes again. 

“Promise you won’t hide things like this from me anymore,” Johnny said firmly. 

“I- I won’t,” Morrissey agreed blankly. 

It was unfair that Johnny picked that very moment for such a promise, because Morrissey would’ve said anything at the moment; that he loved the queen, that the group’s next record would consist of disco music- anything at all that would allow him to continue feeling more alive than he had in over a week with Johnny’s kisses still fresh on his lips. He nodded anyway, and they kissed again, Morrissey’s heart rate lowering gradually again. 

“Good,” Johnny smiled. He kissed him deeper, pulling Morrissey into his lap. He wrapped his arms around him and Morrissey moaned softly when he shifted his body against Johnny’s. 

“Should we?” Morrissey asked, arching an eyebrow. He looked along their intertwined bodies and Johnny laughed, nodding his head. 

“It’d make me feel a hell of a lot better,” Johnny said. 

“I’d like to,” Morrissey mumbled. 

He felt Johnny’s hands move up his thighs and over his hips. Johnny stroked Morrissey’s cock slowly, biting his lip as he worked up his partner to full hardness. Morrissey was comfortable on top, gripping Johnny’s waist and grinding against his erection while the guitarist touched him. 

Morrissey raised himself onto his knees, reaching to apply lube to Johnny’s cock. Johnny kissed him while he was prepared for sex, groaning when Morrissey stroked him. He opened his eyes and looked at Morrissey, who had his eyebrows furrowed in concentration. 

“Are you sure you want to do this right now?” Johnny asked.

“Yes,” Morrissey answered. He took a shaky breath and kissed Johnny back.

“It’s your show, baby,” Johnny told him.

Morrissey rubbed the head of Johnny’s cock against his entrance, feeling Johnny help guide him. Johnny moaned when he felt himself sliding into his partner, watching Morrissey carefully. He was biting his lip, his eyebrows remaining furrowed until Johnny rolled his hips against him. Morrissey moaned softly, grinding on Johnny’s cock. He moaned again, easing in slowly until felt Johnny pull him closer, thrusting in completely with a low gasp. 

Morrissey planted his hands on either side of Johnny’s shoulders and Johnny started thrusting, their bodies moving in unison. Johnny moaned, cutting himself off by kissing his partner hungrily. They went slow and deep, and Johnny could feel the heat rolling off Morrissey’s body as desire took over. 

“Johnny, ohhh,” Morrissey moaned. 

Johnny had him wrapped up tightly in his arms, keeping his thrusts deep and smooth. For however long they were like that, as close as they could possibly be, he could not imagine letting him go. He was overcome with emotion and passion and love and fear, moaning desperately with every thrust. Morrissey kissed him hard, muffling the noises they were making, the unstoppable feelings between them.

When he leaned away Johnny groaned, “Fuck, Moz,” and buried his face in Morrissey’s shoulder as they went a little faster, his gasps catching in his throat. 

Johnny kissed him again, both of them moaning into the kiss. Johnny watched Morrissey ride him for a moment longer, until Morrissey ducked his head slightly and met his eyes. “Johnny, please,” Morrissey said huskily. 

“Faster?” Johnny asked, raising his eyebrows. 

“Yes,” Morrissey said, close to begging.

Johnny sat up and made Morrissey lean back a bit, then started thrusting quickly, his breath coming out in a huff. He watched Morrissey’s hand move immediately to touch himself and Johnny moaned, fucking him hard enough to make the headboard rattle.

“Mmm, Johnny,” Morrissey groaned, closing his eyes. 

Johnny slowed after a while and pulled at Morrissey’s hips, making him grind on his cock. “Oh, baby," Morrissey moaned, moving against him hard. Johnny started thrusting again, short and deep, the bed rattling underneath them until he was out of breath, then he pulled at Morrissey’s hips again and the singer leaned forward to kiss him, gasping and grinning against his lips. 

Johnny put his hands in Morrissey’s hair and kept going, kissing hard and making Morrissey groan. When Morrissey leaned back again Johnny went harder than he had before, his head falling back against the pillow as he moaned. Morrissey’s jaw might have been permanently dropped by the way he was looking at Johnny, giving him everything he had. 

“Oh my god,” Johnny groaned, slowing because he had to. Morrissey was rolling his hips against him again, leaning in to kiss him. Johnny moaned and started thrusting again, hard and deep until he felt himself right about to slip over the edge. 

“Oh, yes,” Johnny moaned. He moved fast and rolled them over so he was on top, pushing Morrissey’s legs up and out of the way. Johnny started thrusting hard again, looking down to watch Morrissey touch himself. 

Morrissey went faster, watching Johnny, his chest heaving as his orgasm got closer. “Like that, Johnny,” Morrissey gasped, stroking himself faster as Johnny went slighter slower, allowing himself to go deeper. Morrissey moaned loudly, and Johnny gasped, swallowing hard. 

“I’m gonna cum, Moz,” Johnny groaned, preparing to pull out. But Morrissey grabbed at his hips, wanting him to keep thrusting. 

“No, don’t,” Morrissey said in a tight voice. His chest and his neck were flushed as he worked himself towards climax, and Johnny’s breath caught in his throat as he tried to hold back, watching Morrissey moan and arch underneath him. He was almost in a daze as Morrissey’s dark eyes closed the moment he reached his peak. 

“Johnny, Johnny”, Morrissey moaned. 

Johnny gasped as he started to orgasm, watching Morrissey slow the movements of his hand, drops of cum shooting on his stomach. 

“Oh, god,” Johnny moaned, thrusting through his orgasm, his entire body shaking.

Morrissey moaned loudly as he came, gasping through the waves of pleasure, feeling Johnny’s body shake with his own orgasm. Morrissey stroked himself slowly, groaning as Johnny pulled out then thrusted back in slowly, leaning in to kiss his partner as they both gasped in the comedown, looking at each other in the early evening stillness. It was almost enough, and when Morrissey took one of the sleeping pills and got back into bed at five in the afternoon, Johnny almost didn't feel guilty as he snuck out of the singer's bedroom. 


End file.
